


Ghostly Echoes

by availec



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 09:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17241845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/availec/pseuds/availec
Summary: Takanori is dead. Ruki isn’t. And for that, Akira suffers.





	Ghostly Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! I hope you enjoy this :D

Akira found a strange comfort in the stench of rotting flesh. 

The tell-tale buzz of flies, the raw, peeling lacerations, and the sight of torn, ashen skin. It was an appearance that caused repulsion in the hearts of people who saw it, Akira included, and yet, he still couldn’t stop the rapid fluttering of his heart.

“Akiraaa,” a low whine came. Bleeding arms reached out, taking him into an embrace, as Ruki shuffled over. The smaller man nuzzled his face in Akira’s chest, sighing contentedly. A gentle kiss was pressed to the top of his head.

As Akira smiled down at Ruki, he blinked back a heady onslaught of tears. 

Matsumoto Takanori was everything Suzuki Akira loved in a person. He was intelligent, kind, witty, determined, adorable, loving, and deeply passionate. Takanori had stormed into Akira’s immaculate life with loathing burning in his hazel eyes, and had stormed out equally fast with the other researcher’s heart ensconced in the folds of his black, flowing cloak. 

Of course, Akira hadn’t known that. 

Nothing but disaster had come in that first month that followed. As they worked together on the secret to eternal life, going through scripture after scripture, they also went through argument after argument. Some of it was purely professional: they would occasionally disagree over an interpretation of a dead language, or the meaning of obscure, badly drawn symbols. However, most of the time it was nothing more than mean-spirited bickering. From insulting fashion sense to insulting parents, the animosity grew larger and larger, until it finally ended with Takanori in tears. 

Akira had learnt two things from that incident. One, that Takanori and a feral raccoon shared many things in common, and two, that Akira hated to see his small lab partner upset. 

After that incident, Akira subtly did everything he could to make Takanori smile. He pulled out all the stops. He secretly sent flowers whenever Takanori felt down, and mailed him a new piece of designer clothing whenever he was particularly upset. Their harsh arguments also whittled down to good-natured teasing, and Akira was soon rewarded with an unexpected make out session with his former nemesis. After that, it had all spiralled out of control. Takanori had confessed, dragged him on dates, and moved in all before Akira could fully realise what was going on. 

Takanori had brought new meaning into his life, had made him a better person, and had given Akira happiness he only ever dreamed of obtaining.

But of course, when had Suzuki Akira known, surely and truly, that he loved Matsumoto Takanori with all of his heart? Only after he had lost him forever.

On that fateful day, Taka had given up _everything_ to chase after Akira. Taka had already forsaken their research, calling it wrong and immoral, but Akira had never been bothered by such flimsy ideals. He had forged ahead without his lover. It was his life’s work, he had reasoned, the single most important thing, the only thing that gave his existence meaning. 

Akira had paid for that thinking. 

Taka had appeared at the most crucial moment. Fiery scarlet trails had flared as a resounding boom rocked the cavern, and the next thing he knew, Akira’s small lover was pushing him backwards. He had shielded Akira from the worst of the blast, protecting him even though Akira had shouted at him to get lost, and as he had breathed his last breath, he had uttered words that would haunt Akira forever. 

“You are the only dream I ever needed,” he had sighed out softly, resting his battered body against Akira’s chest. With no energy left to speak, Taka had mouthed the rest of his words. _”I...lov…”_

And as Akira began to cry, Takanori faded away. 

That had been when Suzuki Akira, with a horrifying certainty, knew for a fact that he loved Takanori Matsumoto. He loved him with a passion all consuming, with a passion so fierce it scorched, and with a passion so blind and undying it nearly drove him insane. 

Akira hadn’t deserved Takanori. What he deserved was every bit of suffering his lover’s memory inflicted on him. But Akira had always been a greedy man, and when it came to Taka, he had always been so, so weak. Too weak, in fact, to let Takanori go.

Two weeks later, Ruki had been born. The entirety of Takanori and Akira’s work had gone into the process, and as he rose from a prone position, Akira had nearly cried with joy. But immediately afterwards, Ruki had latched onto him, calling out his name obsessively. Akira had immediately known that something had gone wrong. It was all too different - the adoring smiles, the constant submissiveness, and the chilling, blank nothingness in those glassy hazel eyes. He responded to the same name, he smiled the same smiles, but he wasn’t...Taka. 

From the texts Akira scavenged, he learnt that it could have been worse. Taka had been right. Full resurrection wasn’t possible, but bringing bodies back to life again certainly was. Corpses could be made to breathe again, and used to contain the soul they had previously lost. However, there were side effects. Reanimated corpses took the last intense emotion they had felt before death and melded their newfound existence around it. If Taka had been angry when he died, he could have come back as a vengeful zombie. If he had been sad, then he would have become a moping mess. But instead, Takanori was damned by the exact same emotion that had brought by his death. He was now hopelessly clingy, hopelessly sappy, and wore his warped love for Akira like a second skin. Akira had never fully believed in love, but now, as the proof and enormity of Takanori’s love for him shone coldly before his eyes, Akira knew he had been wrong. So horribly wrong, and he cursed everything for it. 

Akira should have ended it right there. Taka had died loving Akira. Ruki had been reanimated with only that love. There was no longer anything more to him; no more of that intelligence and wit, no more of that kindness and care, no more of those complex layers that make Takanori Takanori. 

Occasionally Akira would see faint traces of the man Taka had been, when Ruki’s eyes would fill with profound sadness and warm love. Ruki would do nothing but cuddle with Akira in those periods. It was as if Taka was struggling to tell him that despite it all, despite all that Akira had done, it was alright. That Takanori still loved him. 

Those moments were the cruelest of them all. It made it all too obvious that they were stuck in a tragic loop; Akira always reaching for Taka, always getting him back for a few short moments, and then both of them watching, in despair, as Taka gets pulled away. 

Akira knew what he had to do. He had come so close, too. After a week of living with that empty shell, in the apartment he and the love of his life had chosen together, he had grabbed a kitchen knife and coaxed Ruki to him. He had dug the knife into that erratically beating chest, swearing through tears to let Taka rest, but in the end, he hadn’t been able to go through with it. The shell had reached up, brushing away his tears with Taka’s delicate fingers, watching him with Taka’s vibrant brown eyes, and smiling innocently at him with Taka’s warmest, kindest smile. 

Instantly, the sharp cracking of Akira’s heart had rung out in his ears. He had let the knife clutter to the floor, had tugged the shell to his chest, and had sobbed desperately as he cried out apologies. What Taka had been reduced to was sacrilege to the bright soul that he had been, and it was all Akira’s fault. Akira should fix his own problem, he should stop disgracing Takanori’s memory, and he should finally put an end to the drawn out suffering Ruki put him through. 

Every movement Ruki made was knives jabbing into Akira’s chest. Every word that came out of his mouth was glass scraping along all of his exposed skin. Every kiss they shared was Ruki grabbing Akira’s heart and twisting it till it shattered, time and time again. Akira hurt, he hurt so badly he wanted to die, and every fibre of his being begged him to let their suffering end. 

“A-ki-ra,” Ruki singsonged, holding him tighter. 

But despite it all, Akira returned the embrace. He let himself fall into those familiar yet foreign arms, ignoring the wrenching of his heart, and pulled Ruki closer.  


Because love was like that. Love made mortals of gods, rubble of cities, and fools of men. And Akira loved Takanori, loved him so, so much, that even a life with nothing but a ghostly echo was better than life without him.

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself sad I'm sorry  
> \----  
> Please do leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed the work and thank you for reading!


End file.
